


77 ABY

by ProtonBeam



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Aki-Aki, Author is having a rough time tagging, Author refuses to acknowledge TROS is the end, Children's Stories, Dyad HEA, F/M, Festival of Ancestors, Fluff, Force Dyad (Star Wars), Ha "Fable", In-Universe Fable, Light and Dark Anthropomorphized, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Redeemed Ben Solo, Storytelling, The Galaxy is at Peace, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:47:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28173405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProtonBeam/pseuds/ProtonBeam
Summary: A little girl makes her way through the Festival of Ancestors on Pasaana in 77 ABY with her protocol droid. She's headed to the famous story telling session, ready to be mesmerized. Little does she know, today the storyteller has a brand new story. A story about their newest ancestors, never before heard. A story about how the Light and Dark came together to bring peace.ALTERNATELY: It's been 365 days since The Rise of Skywalker and I refuse to believe that was the end. So I'm fixing it. 42 standard years later.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 29
Kudos: 86





	77 ABY

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beebyyoda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beebyyoda/gifts).



> It's been 365 days since Episode 9. 365 days of 'why they do that?' and 'how is that a happy ending?'.
> 
> So I'm fixing it. My way.

The little girl takes her seat on the dusty blanket alongside her new friends. Wedged between a Sullustan toddler and an Aki-Aki child swimming in oversized blue robes. A threadbare tarp flutters gently in the breeze above, keeping the children’s heads safe from the sweltering heat of the desert.   
  
Her protocol droid isn’t too far. He never is. Stationed around the sidelines with the other parents and nurse droids, watching over her as he always does. Obscured by the crowds ebbing and flowing around the tarp but never lost to the throngs. He’s loyal to a fault, despite the fact that he won’t ‘kriffing stuff it’ (as her grandpa says - even as her grandma smacks his arm for using foul language).  
  
Her mother and father complain about the droid’s incessant factual programming, too. _A lot._ A whole lot of a lot. But she’s seen her mother dance happily around the golden droid for no reason while baking her family’s heirloom cake. Seen her father hold deep conversations about the statistical odds of winning a Dejarik match against her furry great-great uncle. In her child’s mind, she thinks that maybe they’re doing that thing grandma tells her adults do — complain _lovingly_.  
  
Besides, she doesn’t think the droid’s so bad.   
  
He holds her hand and points out things with never ending patience. He walks at her pace, robotic jagged steps so small her little feet can keep up easily. When she’s exploring the woods and ponds around their home, he’s a never ending well of information. No matter what oddity she holds out to him with dirty fingers, his round eyes always flash before he unravels his encyclopedic databank to quench her curiosity. He answers all her childish inquiries patiently and has given her the type of insights only a lengthy afternoon with her tutor droids could. Except he’s much less stuffy and his programming doesn’t end with whatever module’s been loaded.   
  
No. ‘See-Po’ knows things. Has _seen_ many things. He’s given her a depth of knowledge no Coruscanti archive, expensive tutor-droid, newly minted lesson module, or grandiose tales from her (nerf-herding, according to grandpa again) aunts, uncles, and extended family could ever hope to bestow on a young mind.  
  
Mama calls him an _‘old relic’_ , but _she_ thinks he’s just swell. In her young mind, See-Po is the best friend a girl could have. Gentle, understanding, and tall. Her constant companion no matter where they go or what adventure she’s about to have.  
  
Watching an elderly Aki-Aki woman set up at the head, she licks the dripping jogan fruit juice off her wrist as she wiggles herself excitedly into a comfortable seated position. It’s managed to seep out of her rolled flat cake treat and down her tiny hands. Dripping and pooling into and around her fragile little wrist and staining her creamy tunic a vibrant shade of purple.   
  
It’s a delicious treat from one of the vendor’s stalls. Grabbed in passing as she and See-Po made their way to the story telling session. A stall calling her name en route to the fringes of the festival where it’s quieter for the children. She knows it’s not a local delicacy. Knows it for a _fact_ because they’d passed dozens of glazed and sprinkled goodies she’d never seen before at other stalls lining their journey. Knows See-Po picked _this one_ because he’d calculated the likelihood of tummy aches of each treat she’d eyed. A known food making her sick being the least likely, given the situation.   
  
Not that she’s complaining.  
  
They’d grabbed this spongy, fruit-filled treat in passing with the handful of credits her mother gave See-Po. Stopped by the stall after she’d oogled one-too-many morsels for far too long giving her droid the impression she was hungry. Which, to be fair, she always is. According to her mother, she’s just like grandma. Always insatiable with _‘the tummy capacity of a very cute baby rathtar’_.  
  
Her mother had shooed her and See-Po off to hear the ancient stories of the Aki-Aki people. Stories told time and time again at the Festival of Ancestors. ‘Once every 42 years,’ See-Po told her on their journey. The little girl knew the two were being shooed off because mama wanted freedom to shop the various colourful tunics Pasaana had to offer. Little did mama know, a treat and a good story were always up her alley. So she’d grinned and grabbed her droid’s hand. Letting him whisk her off in the right direction bravely. An adventurer at heart just like her daddy. Bouncing on her heels and gawking at the various treats and colourful knick-knacks the stalls displayed as they thread their way through the festival.  
  
One of the children beside her squeals, nudging her shoulder playfully to get her attention. When she turns, her eyes are greeted by the electric smile of the blue-robed Aki-Aki child. Its grin makes the little underdeveloped trunk look like an upturned nose.   
  
The child holds a hand out extended, a bunched up ball of beads entwined between its three digits. It’s a friendship offering to foreigners as is customary here. A beautiful string of creamy beige beads, smooth and opaque. Little white dried florets, rectangular and delicate, woven at even intervals throughout. ‘ _A flowering husk necklace’_ , See-Po had told her when they’d arrived, ‘ _is a great honour to gift during the festival. When one is offered, one must accept.’  
  
_ With a toothy grin, she bows her head to let the child loop the gift around her neck. Giggling sweetly as it snags once in her braid then settles around her small neck. They both marvel at the crepey dried baubles. Taking turns twirling them between their fingers and laughing when they flutter back down against her tunic. So overcome with giddy joy at her gift, she offers to share her sweet treat in exchange. Two tiny hands wrangle the rolled flat cake, ripping it in half messily. Sauteed mush, sticky and sweet, coating their fingers and corners of their mouths. Purple juice staining her own pale pink cheeks and her new friend’s grey hide.   
  
She’s always thankful for See-Po’s many lessons in languages and dialects. The many hours spent learning Mando’a and Shyriiwook. She may not be able to speak them very well, but she understands. See-Po’s lessons always include history to help her wrap her young mind around origins. _Much_ better than the ‘repeat-after-me’ language lessons at school.   
  
Today she’s thankful for the one he’d insisted on giving her before their trip here (and continued to drill home on the journey). Because now that the storyteller’s taken her place before the blanket of youngsters, she’ll be able to understand the story perfectly without the need for translation.  
  
“Do you know the story of our Ancestors?” The woman spreads her three-fingered hands wide. Her jewel-green robes flapping with her motion. It’s a magical gesture, reminds her of a curtain being pulled back to reveal a glittering cave of kyber.  
  
A Twi’lek girl behind her answers. “They came here thousands of years ago with nothing but the clothes on their back. Settled on a planet the galaxy deemed uninhabitable and, against all odds, built an entire culture free of the politics of the core worlds.”  
  
The little girl turns around and offers the Twi’lek a beaming smile. Another studious friend to make when storytime is over. It’s returned with a shy one, the little Twi-lek’s purple skin tingeing every so slightly on her cheeks.  
  
“Very good,” the bard chuckles proudly, opening her outer robe to reveal a row of satchels secured at her waist. Her hands dip in and throw coloured chalk into the air. Clouds of blue and green, yellow and red burst above their heads. The children all gawk at the tufts in the sky, mesmerized by the colourful display.  
  
“Did you know this is the very first festival we’re celebrating _new_ ancestors?”  
  
“No,” the children all answer in unison. Eyes wide, instantly immersed by the fascinating display and curious tone of the storyteller’s voice.  
  
The woman’s hands dip into two pouches at her sides, ones right at the ends settled at her hips, a smirk playing across her face and tugging at her trunks.  
  
“Well, children. Today I have a magical story to tell you. One never heard before at our festival,” she takes a dramatic pause, eyes flitting to every child with a kind smile. “Let me tell you the story of our _new_ ancestors. The ones who brought balance to the Galaxy,” she delivers in hushed tones, the children hanging on to every spoken word.   
  
“This is the story of light,” the hand on her left throws a glittering puff of white into the sky, “and dark,” a cloud of shimmering black joins it, “and how they came together to create balance.”  
  
The storyteller claps her dusty hands above her head. The leftover chalk mingles, creating a small cloud of glittery, shimmery, grey.

  
  


#  ✨ ✨ ✨

  
  


Once upon a time, the Galaxy was a broken place.   
  
For millennia the Dark and Light danced around each other in an elegant battle. Sometimes Light would win and shine brightness through the galaxy. Other times Dark would win and create necessary chaos. Always one, then the other, but never both in unison.  
  
The two sides have always taken different forms. Sometimes they were nothing but clouds of space dust, swirling about like the Akkadese maelstrom. Other times they took on the skin of creatures throughout the Galaxy. Always present, always there like two invisible hands guiding the worlds we know along in their infinite push and pull.  
  
But it wasn’t always this way.  
  
You see, thousands of years ago when our ancestors were but larvae, Light and Dark existed together. Their eternal dance created the universe we know. The stars, planets and the moons that power the never-ending spin of our Galaxy. From their cosmic energy, life was born. Different sentient creatures that went on to develop culture and technology. Advanced societies that tapped into the Light and Dark’s combined power to harness the very essence of life.  
  
A power that, when honed, some call _the Force.  
  
_ But power is a fickle thing, children. Especially when it’s shared between two. When one becomes too strong, the other naturally protests. It fears being left behind, forgotten. And so the elegant dance of Light and Dark turned into a battle.  
  
They say the very first battle lasted 100 years. After the sentient wielders of _the Force_ began focusing more on the Light, the Dark became jealous and rebelled. Rallied its troops and waged war on its counterpart. The Dark won that first battle and reigned supreme. And _oh,_ did the Galaxy suffer. Tormented by a power that oppressed.   
  
And so the Light rose to defeat it, marking the beginnings of a long and arduous feud.  
  
The Dark always justified its purpose. Insisted that order under _one being_ brought prosperity to the galaxy. Light, of course, never agreed. Because the Light believed in choice and democracy. So when it inevitably won, Light brought its own version of peace only for some to bemoan the loss of order.  
  
For you see, children, for every bit of dark, there is equal parts light. For every one of you that likes Muja fruit, there’s another who dislikes it. For every one being that likes _having_ choice, there is one who likes the freedom _from_ choice. Therefore there is balance.  
  
And so it went in our lovely Galaxy.  
  
Sometimes it was Dark. Sometimes it was Light.   
  
Sometimes the Dark was cunning, imprisoning its counterpart to rise victorious. Other times the Light would burn its shackles and cast its blinding aura throughout our Galaxy, banishing its foe into the shadows to lick its wounds. On and on and on their battle ebbed.  
  
Until, one day, the Dark took a new vessel, as did the Light.   
  
Tired of their skirmishes and hoping to end it all, they both raced to the finish line so furiously they each took their vessel much too soon. Beings that were yet to be fully immersed in their respective sides, leaving them with fissures in their skins.  
  
The Dark wanted power. Destroyed the newly budding freedom the Light was restoring. Offsetting the flow of their balance. A breach in their natural rhythm, you see. Like stopping a ripple before it has a chance to realize its full potential.   
  
So in the Darkness’s quest to bypass their ancient sway, it didn’t realize its chosen vessel still held little beads of light, despite having tried to bury them.  
  
The Light, of course, met the Dark on the battlefield. A vessel of its own, still untrained and blind to its strength but powerful nonetheless. Like the Dark, Light too had rushed and left threads of darkness unattended. Little weeds in its garden of sunshine that grew in the shadows.  
  
And you know what else?  
  
The greatest irony of all?  
  
Their chosen vessels were products of _each other_. Isn’t that funny, children?  
  
You see, the Light had chosen a vessel born of darkness, and the Darkness had chosen a vessel born of light.  
  
And now that they’d chosen their pawns, they poured themselves into this last cruel battle.   
  
And _oh,_ what a battle it was. It shook planets to their core. Destroyed worlds and thousands of lives. A destructive chase from one side of the Galaxy to the other, like a loth-cat chasing a loth-rat in single minded pursuit.  
  
The vessels clashed again and again. Beaming swords with hearts of kyber slashed and crackled with every attack. Each winning and losing in equal parts. Matched in _the Force_ as any two beings could be. The Dark and the Light so consumed by their vessels, so absorbed in their infinite push and pull, they inadvertently tied the beings into their very existence.   
  
Bound them as two that are one. Just as Light and Dark are one.  
  
What neither considered, was that their vessels were human, and humans are wrought with emotion. Each of their chosen beings battered with feelings of inadequacy and loneliness. Each seeking unfulfilled companionship, to fill the void of their missing half.   
  
You see, humans are attuned to such emotions. Unlike their celestial beings, the vessels _felt_ the other was missing, even if the celestial beings didn’t allow them to _see_ it.  
  
And so, Light and Dark found themselves in a new battle. One bound by the tumultuous rules of human emotion. The harder the vessels fought, the harder it was for them to deny the simple truth. That Light and Dark weren’t on opposite sides at all. That they belonged together. That Light and Dark _can_ exist peacefully in the galaxy. That they are two parts of a whole. That _together_ they formed our pearl of a Galaxy and _together_ they’re strongest.  
  
For all the wisdom the Dark and Light may have accrued in their millennia-long existence, this was the one kernel of truth they’d forgotten.  
  
 _My_ , how beautifully they danced then. The ancient beings unwilling to accept a truth their human vessels so easily felt. Pouring their stubborn wills into them to clash again and again until they, too, began to see that perhaps they were wrong to fight.   
  
In a grand battle where waves roared and foes parried, the Light _finally_ poured a little bit of itself into the Dark when an opening presented. And the Darkness? Well, it saw everything crystal clear for once.   
  
For all their fighting, it finally understood that the Light was an integral part of itself. As intrinsic as breathing. And without its other half, the Dark had nothing. So, it accepted the Light as part of itself. And the Light, though begrudgingly, accepted the Darkness within itself too.  
  
Now wouldn’t it be nice if the story ended there? The Dark and Light returning to their elegant dance and restoring balance to our Galaxy?  
  
Alas, that is not how their story unfolds.  
  
You see children, unbeknownst to either, Darkness had lost a sliver of itself to a cult. A collective of evil creatures that had captured its essence and sought to use the power they’d stolen to consume the Galaxy and snuff out the Light for good. Creatures who fed on cruelty and thrived in chaos. Creatures that wanted to destroy the Galaxy as we know it.  
  
When the Light and Dark confronted it as one, the Great Evil drained them of their power, using their own strength to initiate the beginning of the end. Weakened and confused, the Light and Dark laid on the cold stones of the Great Evil’s lair.   
  
Darkness stood up first. Ready to face their tormentor bravely but was tossed into an abyss in its depleted state.   
  
And so, the Light was left all alone. Alone to face the end of everything they’d built together. To watch the creatures and planets, cultures and worlds they’d helped create be eradicated by this Great Evil.  
  
But the Light would not go gently. No. It would fight. For itself. For its other half. For the Galaxy.   
  
The pain felt by the Light became a new source of power. It would _fight_ for their legacy with everything it ever had. It pulled strength from every being that ever was, every vessel it had ever taken. It joined their wills into the one, defeating the Great Evil and restoring balance to the Galaxy.  
  
Now, children, do you know how much that battle took from the Light?  
  
No?  
  
 _Everything.  
  
_ The Light gave _everything._   
  
Including its life.  
  
Now, remember that abyss the Darkness was flung into?  
  
Well, Darkness is a fickle beast. It, too, did not give up easily.   
  
It had _survived.  
  
_ Clutched onto the threads of light its counterpart had gifted it and used them to replenish its strength. Pulled itself out of the depths of the chasm only to be confronted by the crumbling remains of the Great Evil’s lair.  
  
But you know what it also found? What was worst of all? It found the Light’s vessel laying unmoving on the ice cold stones.  
  
The Darkness panicked when it saw its other half’s limp and lifeless body. Every beautiful dance, whether in concert or in battle, raced through its mind. Memories of their duality and co-dependence. Because when nothing else existed, they always had each other. And the worst part for the Darkness? Its pain and loss was amplified through its human vessel’s emotions.  
  
You see, the greatest tragedy of all is that the vessel had also fallen in love with its counterpart.  
  
Oh it trembled and cried. Clutched the lifeless body of its greatest adversary and greatest love. Searched high and low for help but found none.   
  
It was alone for the first time in millennia and that hurt Darkness the most. So, for the very first time in its chaotic existence, the Darkness did something selfless. It gave every little bit of itself to the Light. Poured the remnants of its own weak existence into the Light’s vessel.   
  
Because you see, Darkness couldn’t live without Light. And it knew neither could the Galaxy. For as much as the Dark had brought order and helped worlds evolve, the Light brought happiness. Radiant beams of it that gave birth to colourful festivals like ours. The Light was responsible for dancing and singing, for art and beauty. Everything the Dark was not. Everything of value in the Galaxy, Light was responsible for. So it sacrificed itself for its other half.  
  
They shared but a moment of awareness. A beautiful, endless moment together where they’d shed their opposing beliefs and basked in the glory of each other’s existence. For the first time since their inception, they saw each other as intended. As two parts of a whole.  
  
Do you know, children, what we call them? Hmm? The Light and Dark together as one?  
  
 _A Dyad.  
  
_ The Darkness’ vessel faded away, leaving the Light alone to mourn the loss. Thankful for its gift and still too shaken to understand the consequences of the Darkness’ gift.  
  
The Light went on, of course. Trapped in its vessel’s body. It tried to live and, surprisingly, it even managed for a little bit. Until the weight of loneliness became unbearable. Countless nights spent with half a soul, yearning for the lost part of itself like a phantom limb. And just when it started to feel itself flicker, when Light began to feel itself fade in the absence of duality, it undertook the difficult task of finding its counterpart.  
  
You see, children, the Light, like Darkness, is a stubborn being. It refused to accept the other was gone.  
  
And so the Light searched high and low. Dug through the deepest recesses of the Galaxy. Consulted the core worlds and explored the unknown regions. It travelled light years in every direction, sent its tendrils of power into every nook and cranny, leaving no stone unturned.  
  
The sadness within taking root, causing its light to flicker evermore. A little more each day the Light was alone. You see, Light missed the contrast so much, it started to dim.  
  
Now, now. None of those long faces, children. I’m getting to the best part. I promise.  
  
After years of fruitless searching. After hunting down relics and consulting every known archive, the Light gave up. Resigned itself to being alone. It holed up on a distant planet not much different than ours, content to live out its remaining days and fade away with its vessel.  
  
So hurt was it by the loss of its other half that it had accepted the inevitable.  
  
It cried rivers of tears. The waters of pain transforming the planet from a barren desert to a green jewel. Laying listlessly in the grasses it had fed with its tears, the Light allowed itself to fade despite its vessel's youth. For you see, it had searched for years and years, but the vessel was still barely 30.  
  
No one really knows exactly how it happened. No one knows the exact date or time. The circumstances and events. No one knows exactly _how_ the Dark came back to the Light.  
  
But one day, when the Light had almost faded, Darkness stood tall and proud before its other half’s fading body. It smiled ruefully and gathered the Light in its arms. Nurtured it back to health and vowed to never leave it again. Confessed its undying love and built them a new home.  
  
It never did leave the Light again.  
  
And so they remained together. Joined as one, how they were always meant to.

  
  


#  ✨ ✨ ✨

  
  


Her tiny heart hammers against her ribcage. Enthralled by the story and finally able to breathe. She doesn’t know exactly when it happened. Only that, at some point, the children collectively ceased to breathe. Every tiny body under that tarp holding its breath as one.  
  
Maybe it was around the time the Darkness faded. Every one of the children inhaling sharply, tiny fingers clutching the dusty blanket. Fisting it as the fear of an unhappy ending sizzled across the crowd of growing bodies. Developing minds accustomed to stories whose endings always contained the words ‘and they lived happily ever after’.   
  
But this one delivered. It was beautiful and it was perfect and they _definitely_ lived happily ever after. The body of children seem to breathe a sigh of relief, again, as one.  
  
The storyteller waves her hands in the air with a smile. Two fists reaching high above her head to clap together. A puff of white and a puff of black mingle together yet again to create a large shimmering cloud of grey above their heads.  
  
“That’s why, children,” she smirks at the enraptured crowd of younglings, “today we celebrate anew. Our festival glows with colour to honour our ancestors. Yellows for the suns, greens for the grasses, blues for water, reds for the earth. Today, we add one more.”  
  
She connects two more fistfuls of powder for another grey shimmer above all their heads.  
  
“We celebrate our _newest_ ancestors. Those who have brought peace and restored balance to the Galaxy. The joining of Light and Dark. We celebrate the _Dyad_ . We celebrate their unity and fruitful marriage. Their union of grey.”  
  
The children all applaud in unison. Giggles and high-pitched hoots from their tiny mouths. Thunderous applause created by pint-sized hands, whoops that should be created by much larger bodies. One little boy waves his arm enthusiastically in the air, an effort to ask a question and capture the storyteller’s attention. “Madam storyteller?” His voice barely breaches the joyful noise, “umm, what happened to the Dyad then?”  
  
“Such curiosity,” the woman clucks, threading her arms behind her back in thought. She tracks back and forth before the blanket. Eyes high above their heads and trained to the sky.  
  
“Well,” she starts thoughtfully, “they say that the Light and Dark live peacefully on a planet so green, emeralds are jealous. In a house so big, castles are envious. They say that the Dyad, in their human form, started a family of their own. That they share their knowledge of _the Force_ with a new generation of vessels who learn to use Darkness and Light in equal measures. That they’re passing on all of their shared knowledge to ensure the Galaxy remains in balance for centuries to come.”  
  
“Sooo,” the little boy interrupts gleefully, “they lived happily ever after?”  
  
The storyteller smiles down at him softly. “Yes, child,” she tuts, “then they lived happily ever after.”  
  
The children swoon in their seats. Some of the boys grinning, some of the girls sighing. Their joined happiness palpable in the dry desert air. The little girl just beams from the depths of her soul, sticky hands clasped before her heart in unchecked joy.  
  
As the children stand, thanking the storyteller one at a time, she cannot wipe the grin off her face. Even as she finds See-Po and takes his hand. Even as the bright tufts of colourful clouds fill the air and the ancient Aki-Aki dance begins, the smile on her face never falters.  
  
For she knows, in the very marrow of her frail little bones, that the Dyad from the story has a name. Two names, in fact.  
  
Sure, she’d heard the term ‘dyad’ before. A lot. A _lot_ a lot. Like the size of her home planet a lot. Almost daily for a little while in her short life. Sometimes ‘sarcastically’ by her aunts and uncles. Sometimes lovingly by her grandma and grandpa.  
  
With sticky fingers she tugs See-Po’s hand, wordlessly asking to be hoisted on his golden shoulders. Watching with rapt attention as the dancers move and the clouds shift from one colour to another.  
  
She can’t help giggling, squealing every time an explosion of colour fills the air. Every once in a while a tuft of grey shimmers alongside. Its essence infused with glitter that captures the rays of Pasaana’s sun, raining sparkles on the dancers.  
  
Again and again the grey appears until it’s always there. Always a thread tying together the neverending array of colour.  
  
“That’s them, isn’t it See-Po?” Her little hands pat her droid’s shiny head.  
  
“Pardon me, master Leia?”  
  
“That’s gramma and grampa, isn’t it? The grey? They’re the Dyad, aren’t they?”  
  
“Oh yes,” the droid begins and she knows he’s about to start rambling, “the Aki-Aki have anthropomorphised Light and Dark to retell the story of how the Force had gifted our universe a Dyad and through it, found balance. They do not quite believe in the ways of the Jedi and the Sith the way those in the core worlds do…”  
  
“Thank you See-Po,” she pats his head again. A motion she knows will halt his rambling. He gets like that sometimes. Excited to lay out the bounty of knowledge he’s managed to accrue in his long life.   
  
He’s told her tales of her great-great-grandfather and his queen-senator wife. The story of her great-grandmother (her name sake) and her scoundrel husband (the source of her _awesome_ family name). The story of her grandmother and grandfather and their duels on both sides. Told her stories well into the night until her mother would tut and reprimand the droid, saying things like _‘that’s enough C-3PO, Leia needs to get to bed now,’_ or _‘if you keep filling her head with grand tales you’ll fry her wiring.’  
  
_ Her tiny heart swells watching the colours mottle the sky. Always beautiful, always vibrant. And highlighting them all, bursts of grey. Strong and proud. The grounding colour of the new world she’s known all her life.  
  
To some, they are the Light and Dark. To others, they are Rey and Ben. To her, they are grandma and grandpa.  
  
But above their heads, is the colour of their union. The colour of her lineage.   
  
Grey.  
  
It’s the colour of her grandparents back home on Naboo.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This one's for you [@justsunshinerey](https://twitter.com/justsunshinerey). Your adorable tales and sunny disposition have inspired this entire tale <3


End file.
